SLAVELOCK
by john-locked-in-baker-street
Summary: Sherlock is a slave and John is his master.


**SLAVELOCK **

Sherlock [17] sat out in the cold, shivering on the stoop of the flat. He had misbehaved that morning, and was punished by sitting out in the cold for as long as John felt necessary. Sherlock pulled out his phone, and slowly texted his master:  
"Please, sir, I'm freezing out here, may I come inside? SH"

Unfortunately, his master did not respond.

**"**Please sir, I don't want to catch cold and get you sick is all... SH"

**"**I'll let you inside once you have been rightfully punished for your behavior this morning. JW"

**"**Yes sir... SH"

Sherlock sat on the stoop, shivering. His teeth chattered. He sneezed and tried to keep himself warm. A cold gust of wind blew past , inside, is pacing back and forth wondering if his punishment was too brutal. He might be a slave master, but he still has a conscience. Sherlock looked up at the window to see the silhouette of John, pacing. Sherlock looked down again and coughed. Seeing his scrawny slave coughing in the cold outside, John opens the door, "I hope you have learned your lesson."

"I have sir, I won't have another outburst." Sherlock muttered, looking up at John. His cheeks were red, but the rest of his face was pale as a sheet. Seeing his slave's appearance, John felt a tearing guilt inside of him. "Alright. Come inside."Sherlock slowly stood up and followed John inside.

"Is there anything I can do for you sir?" John shook his head, "No. Just go get yourself cleaned up and fix up a fire."

"Yes sir." Sherlock went to the washroom and wet a washcloth with warm water, and patted his face and hands. He then went into the lounge after drying off and started a fire and sat down in his corner.

"I won't act out anymore sir." Sherlock said hoarsely.

John slowly enters the room and faces the corner looking down, still feeling that pang of guilt.

"Yes, I don't know what go into you this morning, but I am your master and you have no right to rebel against me. Now, you have been a good slave ever since you started here, let's forget this incident, alright?"

"Yes sir.." Sherlock murmured. He was truly afraid. He didn't get punished often. By far, this was the worse. Even worse than the whippings and being put in the cage.

John nods his head and walks out the room. He still couldn't shake the guilt growing inside of him. He shakes it off and enters his room to get some sleep. Sherlock looked around the room and sighed. He didn't want this. But he did. He just wanted his master to like him, that's all. Every time he was punished it made him feel so horrible inside, it reminded him he had failed. Before fall asleep, John texts Sherlock. "Get some rest Sherlock. I don't want you catching a cold." JW

"Yes sir. SH" He texts back. Sherlock curled up in his corner on his mat and quietly sobbed to himself. He was miserable, but this was the life he chose for himself.

John awakens a couple minutes later to the sound of crying downstairs. Usually, he would be furious for being awakened, but this time he felt worried. Sherlock eventually cried himself to sleep. Thoughts ran through his head of escape. He'd do anything to stop feeling so horrible. Hearing the weeping had stopped, John relaxed. He although, could not stop himself from thinking about his life. He has a slave whom he punishes with whippings and neglect outside in the cold. This isn't him. What happened to the John Watson who couldn't hurt a fly? It bewildered John how much he has changed. He isn't happy. He stayed awake for the next couple hours, rethinking his current lifestyle. Sherlock dreamed he had finally done it. Escaped. Permanently. In his dream he'd felt the wind through his hair and he closed his eyes. And when he hit the ground, he woke with a start.

John woke to find no breakfast on his bedside table. He was about to raise his voice to scold Sherlock, but resisted himself in time. He wanted to change his life. Be a better master. Be a better person. Today is the beginning of the new John Watson. Sherlock was no longer in his corner but locked in the washroom. He picked up a razor and started to take it apart. He grabbed a blade and balanced it over his wrist. 'One cut. That's all it takes. One cut deep enough and it's all over." he whispered to himself.

John walked down the stairs to find Sherlock nowhere in sight. He then decided to make breakfast for both of them. He hasn't made breakfast in a long while so it was a bit of a struggle. He managed to cook some eggs and bacon. He set up the table and waited for Sherlock to come back from wherever he was.

Sherlock gulped and with one swift motion, he sliced his wrist. He gasped in pain as he watched the line of blood turn into a long bubble and pop as it trickled down his arm. It wasn't enough to die. But enough to feel the pain. Enough to feel the scream inside. He had no idea that he had yelped out in pain, all his senses were blurred.

John immediately bolted up as he heard a shriek of pain. "Sherlock? Is that you? Are you alright?" He heard no response. Sherlock felt everything move slower. His vision faded in and out and he fell to the floor of the washroom.

John heard a loud bang coming from the washroom and darted that direction. He hurriedly twisted the knob, but found it locked. "Sherlock? Sherlock?" he shouted anxiously. He backed up and rammed his right shoulder through the door. The door, wide open, revealed a thin bloody figure lying on the the floor. Panicked, he opened the cabinet briskly for his first aid kit. He bandaged Sherlock's arm to stop the bleeding.

Sherlock breathed heavily and closed his eyes. Unconscious. He felt different. Good even. He felt like everything had finally stopped and he could take a breath. He felt like he could stay that way forever. Endlessly floating in his own mind.

John helped the fragile Sherlock walk over to the couch. As he set his slave down on the velvet couch he asked with mixed anger and concern, "What the hell were you doing?"

"Trying.." Sherlock muttered after a while, fluttering his eyelashes open. "Trying to escape..." He felt weak. He felt everything inside him fall. "Are you going to punish me, sir?"

John managed to chuckle in the midst of the horrifying situation. "I think you've punished yourself enough. Please, just get some rest and don't try doing this again. If you wanted to escape you could have used your feet and walked out the door, not a bloody razor."

"I don't want to go out there, sir." Sherlock murmured. "I've done this before, sir..." He confessed softly. "It helps me escape."

John's eyes widened and his forehead wrinkled in deeper concern. That pang of guilt is sneaking into his chest once again. He muttered slowly, " I meant truly escape from here. Walk out the door and never come back. I would not want you to kill yourself in your vision of an escape. I realize you're not happy here and I am truly sorry for that. You are free to go as you please, but not after you have recovered from your wounds."

"But I'm yours. It says I'm yours and I'm not allowed to leave until I'm 18." He pointed to the stack of papers on the desk. "I'm a slave sir, not a person. I wouldn't make it out there. The world would eat me up." Sherlock sat up and looked down. "I'm not happy but I make you happy so I have to stay. I have to, it's my job. It's what I'm here for, sir. It's who I am."

John nodded his head understandingly. "Alright. You can stay here until you're 18. Things are gonna change. I can't continue being an unhappy man anymore. I can't continue to punish you whenever I please. I don't want to live a life where I inflict pain on others. I'm a doctor, I'm supposed to stitch up wounds, whether they be literal or figurative. I am deeply sorry for how I have been treating you and so I am asking for your forgiveness."

"Well, then I forgive you. It's okay, that's what masters are supposed to do, sir." Sherlock said flatly. He was rather confused by this newfound kindness in John.

"Well I'm not that master anymore. You should get some rest now," John said tapping a hand reassuringly on Sherlock's shoulder. "I made breakfast if you're hungry, but for now just rest."


End file.
